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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400301">Not A Kiss</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finnspiration/pseuds/Finnspiration'>Finnspiration</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rhett &amp; Link</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, Slice of Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 05:55:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finnspiration/pseuds/Finnspiration</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhett thinks about all the rules they've made to keep themselves from "slipping up."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not A Kiss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note: this is not intended for the consumption of the people featured in this story. It is fiction, not real. But don't show it to them anyway, thanks.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <b>Not A Kiss</b>
</p><p>
  <em> by Finnspiration </em>
</p><p> </p><p>They have lots of rules.  They always have.</p><p>The main rule is that it's important to be brothers and friends, not to cross those invisible lines.  That's the hardest rule.  </p><p>Sometimes they didn't even realize there was a line, or that they were near it, until they stepped over.  Then there was guilt, repentance, prayer, sometimes avoiding each other to pay for their sins, to avoid temptation, which hurt most of all.  And always, always—rules.</p><p>"That makes me uncomfortable," was their phrase to keep each other in line, to remember the agreements and the rules, to hint that it was getting somehow too close to...that.</p><p>You didn't grow up in the South in the church as Boys Who Must Be Men, and not have some pretty strong views about what was allowed when it came to sexuality.  </p><p>The thing with gay people was that God didn't hate them, but they had to change.</p><p>The thing with gay boys was that they hated themselves, and couldn't change.</p><p>But it was fine.  It was okay. Friendship was better anyway.</p><p>If it was the only way they could stay in each other's life, then it was better, of course it was.</p><p>When they were safely married, those feelings would go away.</p><p>But they didn't.</p><p>Rhett remembered Link's silent tears, as he curled away, in on himself, wracked with guilt.  It wasn't that Rhett didn't feel guilty. And he still felt such longing for that soft curve of Link's back, his shoulders and skinny waist.  </p><p>But seeing Link feel so bad felt worse than anything Rhett could feel for himself.  And he promised himself, he promised himself, that would be the last time.  </p><p>The worst memory, the last one.</p><p>#</p><p>Sometimes they're barely friends, for a while.</p><p>Sometimes, they're almost enemies.</p><p>It's easier to be mean to Link, to maintain distance that way.  To be angry he can make Rhett feel this way, instead of guilty or soft.  To try to be disgusted by him.  </p><p>To keep him in his place.</p><p>It's hard enough being coworkers, trying to get a fledgling business off the ground, flying by the seat of their pants, and each other's.  It's like jumping off a cliff, making all of this work, making it up as they go, with only each other to count on.  </p><p>Those frustrated, annoyed feelings of noticing Link and his physicality are easier than the soft ones, even if underneath they're all the same, really.  </p><p>Sometimes they don't even look at each other.  They try not to touch, especially on camera. People make all these comments.  It's like salt in the wound.  </p><p>They try, for a long time, to quell them.</p><p>Then they just pretend they don't care.</p><p>#</p><p>Somewhere along the way, Rhett loses his faith, and Link does, too.</p><p>Now there's no more repentance, no more prayers, no more need to be who they aren't, to change themselves. </p><p>But there are still the lives they've chosen, parallel but separate, as friends—with wives.  Each of them, their own wife, women they love, women who they don't want to hurt or betray.  </p><p>But sometimes, life feels so very, very long, living this way.  Being good boys who don't even have heaven to look forward to now, if they can just be good enough.</p><p>It's good to stay busy, to work a lot.  They're better together, and when they work, there's an excuse—and something to focus on that isn't what they can't have.</p><p>They don't talk about any of this, of course.  They just slide into a new normal.</p><p>It's not for God, now.  They're allowed to like gay or bi or whatever, now.  It's for their promises, to themselves and their wives.</p><p>It's for the men they want to be.</p><p>Look, but don't touch.</p><p>Don't, but only in jokes or content, and don't you dare let it be anything more than that.</p><p>#</p><p>"Dude," says Link, shifting a little on the couch.  </p><p>Just a nap, they said.  Just sharing space. Even though Rhett knows it's a lot more, how they crave closeness.  If this is all they can have, then at least they have this.</p><p>Sometimes they need to be close more than they need to breathe.</p><p>Rhett doesn't answer, because his lips are against the back of Link's neck.  Not exactly pressing. Just...they're close.  </p><p>There's a lot of closeness happening right now, Link's warm, lanky body pressed all up against him, Rhett in the dominant position, as it should be, arms more or less loosely around Link.  </p><p>He's bigger.  He's got to lie down first and then Link can lay down in his arms, if he wants to, or close enough as to make no difference if there's arms around him or not.  Though it helps. Because the couch is small for two grown men.</p><p>Rhett thinks of sleeping bags, and sleepovers, and bunk beds that could be used in different ways, squeezing in, making it work.</p><p>Never quite enough room—but they wanted it that way.  If they planned enough room, it would be premeditated, actually making room for it in their lives, admitting how much it mattered, instead of a slipup, a mistake, just the horniness of guys being guys, and maybe it didn't really mean anything anyway.</p><p>Rhett's not young anymore.  Sometimes he feels very, very old—as old as his back, as old as his heart.  He knows now that it matters, more than anything, these feelings, whether they do anything or not.</p><p>The truth is he loves Link.  He loves his family and his friends, but every love in his life is transitory compared to the one for Link.  It's grown such deep roots there's no getting rid of it, and these days, he doesn't try to root it out.</p><p>He's just grateful.</p><p>He's grateful for moments like these, on the couch, arms around Link, definitely not kissing him as they nap together.  It's just his lips, near the back of Link's neck, which is so soft.  </p><p>Sometimes Link seems so old himself, and sometimes, he doesn't seem to have aged at all.  They're getting old together, so that's why it doesn't feel so different from being kids.  </p><p>Sometimes it feels like they're back to that innocent closeness, sweet closeness.  Before the hard times when they almost had to hate each other, to stay away, to become the men they wanted to be.</p><p>If he could go back and do it all again, would he?  He doesn't know. It's better to go forward.  Even though he knows he's hurt Link, and Link's hurt him, they were who they were, and they are who they are.  Married men, with families. Buddies who work together. And so much more than any words can say.</p><p>"Dude, don't kiss my neck," complains Link.  But he's not uncomfortable enough to wriggle away.  No, he's just complaining.</p><p>"I'm not," says Rhett carefully, trying not to let his whiskers tickle Link's skin.  </p><p>Link smells good to him, always has.  When he was shirtless and sweaty and horny, when he was young and hungry, when he was in his too tight t-shirts that smelled of sweat after too-long days, with the look in his eyes that said he was trying not to cry, as he was pushed to his very edge by everything his life had become as he tried to balance being a young father, a good husband, a business partner—and whatever they were to each other, that they couldn't be.</p><p>It was better when they didn't try to talk about it.  These days, these little arguments, these unspoken agreements, they were the closest to bargaining they did.  Not rules, exactly, not the reminder of what "uncomfortable" meant when they said it, that code word for not crossing the line.  Just bickering, to keep them in line.</p><p>Not that it was so hard now.  They weren't young guys with raging hormones and lots of unscheduled time alone together.  No, every minute was accounted for these days.  </p><p>There were no long, slow, lazy afternoons by the river, or frustrated study sessions being interrupted by some buddy stress relief.  There were no lonely road trips and needing some comfort and closeness in the night, just for this time, just for this one more time.</p><p>It was a nap.  And Rhett's arms were around Link.  He felt so good and warm there, in Rhett's arms.  That's all it was—a nap. He was too old to want anything more, anyway.  He told himself that.  </p><p>He'd been telling himself that since he was about sixteen.  Too old for that kind of thought. You kissed girls, not Links.  You didn't jack off together—that was both risky and sinful.  </p><p>You certainly didn't harbor those kind of thoughts for your guy friends, not when girls existed in the world, girls with their good smells and their confusing and fascinating personalities, and their soft hair and warm bodies.</p><p>They sure smelled different from Link.  He had a good natural scent when it wasn't covered up by anything else.  The way his skin smelled, the way his sweat smelled—Rhett knew it by heart.  Even the nasty sweat was good in a way, sometimes. He was a good smelling man, and good to touch.  And Rhett wasn't kissing him.</p><p>"Your lips are against my neck," Link insisted.  "I thought you weren't gonna kiss me?"</p><p>"I'm not.  It's just how you're laying.  You want to move, you move."</p><p>Neither one of them moved.</p><p>"I'm tired man, I'm trying to take a nap, and you're back there—with your moustache and—and beard—"</p><p>To be contrary, Rhett rubs against the back of Link's neck.  Teasing, not nuzzling. Definitely.</p><p>Link makes a jerk forward, a suppressed sound, half giggle half something else.  "Man, don't tickle me! I'm trying to take a nap! If you're gonna be difficult—"</p><p>"So which is it?  Am I kissing you or tickling you?" demands Rhett.</p><p>"Both, man!  Just quit it.  I thought you were tired."</p><p>
  <em> Tired of you?  Never... </em>
</p><p>"I'm tired.  I'm napping. You're the one complaining."</p><p>"Man, I'm trying to nap, and you're all up in my business.  Move your lips."</p><p>"Move your neck."</p><p>Link does, a little.  Not much.  </p><p>Rhett settles back against him, a concession to this, just this: his face is turned a little, his lips don't touch, he's laying his head against Link, his cheek.  That's almost more intimate.</p><p>He think he both hears and feels Link's little sigh, heavy in his chest.  </p><p>Link settles.  Rhett settles. If they have nothing else, they have this: each other, always.</p><p>Rhett doesn't kiss him.  They're buddies, business partners, friends and blood brothers.  And so much more than all of that. He just knows this: Link is his, more than anybody else's.  Link is <em> his: </em> first, last, and always.</p><p>They don't have to have sex for that to be true.  At least they have this, a moment of rest on a couch, not enough room—by design—an embrace, a rest, a chance to reset from the stress of the day, together.  </p><p>It's always best, together.  Link and Rhett, Rhett and Link.</p><p>Rhett doesn't kiss him.  He wasn't trying to, anyway.  It was just the position they were in, lips couldn't help touching skin.  They're business partners, friends, everything, really, except for that—lovers.</p><p>He feels Link fall asleep, the subtle change in the way his body is still, the way his breathing sounds.  Rhett admires Link's ability to sleep so easily. He doesn't even try to fall asleep himself.  </p><p>He lies awake, holding his Link, experiencing this, trying to make himself stay in the moment, and feel everything he feels.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>&lt;end&gt;</p><p> </p>
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